aka -two-faced clocks.
the process of extraction series.
"You pile up enough tomorrows
and you'll be left with nothing but a bunch of empty yesterdays.
I don't know about you, but I'd like to make today worth remembering."
-meredith wilson
There are times
when I wish to lay you down
in graves next to former lovers.
Put you to sleep,
and bring rest to fitful dreams
that haunt waking hours.
Yet you rewind yourself;
a broken clock reaching backwards
to take my hand,
soft as a lullaby
whispered into exhaustion,
singing me into submission,
once again.
There are parts of you
that tread lightly along the lines of palms;
sides hidden
within the folds of facade.
I alone
bare witness to your truth.
I have known
the edges of your darkness,
confronted the faces of demons
creeping from the corners of memory.
Phantom,
I am betrothed to your shadow.
Paid my dowry in tears
so that all may begin again.
Lover, but when
do the false starts
finally end?
For tomorrow is the day of the greedy.
Tomorrow is the shelf
upon which today is placed.
I am not encased
in emergency glass
to be shattered in times of need.
I
need
you
now.
To exist in this space we've created;
A niche carved from rocks and hard places,
where each step
is a struggle against
the persistence of time.
I beg of you:
read between the lines of poems
that fight for a second
of sensibility.
I am
losing my grip,
clocks dripping off branches
in the desert of hours;
sands slipping through fingers
slowly unfolding
to grab hold of the present
and let you go.
the process of extraction series.
"You pile up enough tomorrows
and you'll be left with nothing but a bunch of empty yesterdays.
I don't know about you, but I'd like to make today worth remembering."
-meredith wilson
There are times
when I wish to lay you down
in graves next to former lovers.
Put you to sleep,
and bring rest to fitful dreams
that haunt waking hours.
Yet you rewind yourself;
a broken clock reaching backwards
to take my hand,
soft as a lullaby
whispered into exhaustion,
singing me into submission,
once again.
There are parts of you
that tread lightly along the lines of palms;
sides hidden
within the folds of facade.
I alone
bare witness to your truth.
I have known
the edges of your darkness,
confronted the faces of demons
creeping from the corners of memory.
Phantom,
I am betrothed to your shadow.
Paid my dowry in tears
so that all may begin again.
Lover, but when
do the false starts
finally end?
For tomorrow is the day of the greedy.
Tomorrow is the shelf
upon which today is placed.
I am not encased
in emergency glass
to be shattered in times of need.
I
need
you
now.
To exist in this space we've created;
A niche carved from rocks and hard places,
where each step
is a struggle against
the persistence of time.
I beg of you:
read between the lines of poems
that fight for a second
of sensibility.
I am
losing my grip,
clocks dripping off branches
in the desert of hours;
sands slipping through fingers
slowly unfolding
to grab hold of the present
and let you go.
- i be miss.abi
- reppin houston, United States
- the full info
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